


Invisible

by MamaZoom



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Porn Watching, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaZoom/pseuds/MamaZoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vince is mucking about in Naboo's things (never a good sign) and turns himself invisible. Kink ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Vince pulls out a shrunken head encased in a glass cube filled with turquoise liquid and thinks maybe he's living with a sociopath. He finds two more cubes just like the first one and moves on to another pile. Normally, he wouldn't go traipsing through Naboo's room like this, but this was serious; this was a matter of life and death. Okay, maybe not life or death, but he had (to his eternal shame) found a grey hair that morning while going about his daily style routine, and it had all but given him a heart attack. Which was something an old man would succumb to. Which Vince Noir most certainly was not. He had confided in Howard about it, who only laughed, called him a vain twat and went back to alphabetizing his jazz collection. He shouldn't have expected Howard to understand, what with the state he walks around in and all.

In the second pile of doodads he finds gold ropes with talismans engraved with incantations on them. They are long and wordy things, much heavier reading than the Charlie books and they intimidate him a bit. He puts those down. Then he finds something that completely takes his mind off that one damn follicle betraying his age. It is a silver chain that looks like it is made up of stars. Vince runs his fingers over it in awe. The talisman at the end of this chain appears to be made of glass--the words inscribed there almost translucent. He reads them out loud the best he can--it doesn't help that it's written in a language he's sure is not of this earth-- slowly, carefully, he reads out every word with great concentration, trying to remember not to furrow his brow. The last thing he needs is wrinkles on top of a grey hair.

Vince feels light as air when he finishes the incantation. It's the only side effect he feels. He waits for a few more seconds before standing up and jumping.

"Genius!" he proclaims. "Weight-loss spell. I was getting well tired of malt-loaf anyway."

Vince strolls into the front room, feeling quite chipper and forgetting about his one silver hair. It's at the nape of his neck, anyway. Who's going to notice?! He stops in front of the mirror across from the sofa to pull some shapes with his lighter frame and freezes immediately. He moves to the left. And then to the right. And back again. He repeats the process until he is certain--he has no reflection.

"Vince?!" he hears Howard clambering up the stairs and feels a strange need to hide. Until he realizes that won't strictly be necessary.

"Naboo?" Howard calls out once he reaches the landing. "Bollo?" He keeps looking around with his tiny eyes in a way that is suspect, to say the least. "Anyone here?"

Vince kept quiet and still, wondering what his mate was up to. Howard hopped about nervously for a few more seconds before checking all the rooms to make sure he was truly alone. From a small paper bag, Howard extracted a DVD and fumbled around with the player for an agonizing three minutes.

Vince winced. He wanted so badly to just reach out and operate it for him, or to tell him what he was doing wrong, but Vince reminded himself he was being secretive.

Finally, Howard got the machine working.

God, what's this all about?! Vince thinks to himself Howard hasn't used the DVD player since he got that documentary on Miles Davis.

He chances a glance down at the case Howard held in his shaky hands and nearly forgets not to make a noise. "Jazz Sluts 3"

Oh, good lord Jagger! Jazz porn?! Wonder what the hell that's like. Well, only one way to find out.....

It's not like Vince particularly wants to be in the same room as his best mate while he had a wank to some porn, but it's also not like he could just march up to Howard tomorrow and ask very politely to see his collection of jazz pornography. So Vince decides to stay. He settles down into the outsized arm chair to the right of the sofa, trying his hardest not to make a noise. Howard looks around again with his shifty, beady eyes and Vince could swear Howard's just looked right through him, his eyes lingering for a moment over Vince's invisible face as he watches silent and attentively.

Howard hits 'play' on the remote and Vince turns his attention to the screen where a woman dressed in a corduroy miniskirt and a white button down (top three buttons undone to expose ample cleavage) was talking about John Coltrane and running her hands over her breasts. Vince heard Howard emit a low growl from the back of his throat and turns his head away from the telly to look at his friend.

Howard is relaxed on the sofa, legs splayed. He's teasing himself, stroking his fingertips along his tented cords, watching the woman with heavily lidded eyes.

Vince leans forward in his chair.

On the screen the woman is now topless, but Vince no longer cares. He's sucked into the real life porn going on in front of him. It's not like he never wondered what Howard would be like in bed. He wonders that about a lot of people. How could you not?! But this is different. This isn't Howard with another person. This is Howard seeking pleasure on his own, and it makes Vince's stomach tighten with anticipation.

Howard unfastens his trousers and Vince licks his suddenly dry lips as Howard pulls himself free. Vince's fingers twitch with the sudden urge to reach out and touch him--just see how he feels sliding across his palm. Instead, he watches as Howard fists himself lightly, pumping slowly, his eyes falling closed at this first contact.

Vince bites his lip, his toes curling and digging into the soles of his boots. He wants to touch himself, now so suddenly aware of his own erection, but he doesn't dare. He knows he can't be quiet. Has proved that one too many awkward nights in a shared bedroom.

Howard runs the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock, emitting little groans and sighs with every pass. Vince watches the way Howard touches himself; squeezing tightest at the base, rotating his wrist, fingering his head. The tempo increases. Somewhere far off, Vince can hear a woman moaning and a trumpet playing, but the only thing he's focused on is Howard--the way his hips buck up towards his fist, his brow furrowed in concentration, the growls and groans and moans that escape him involuntarily and he's suddenly dizzy with the desire it arouses in him.

Vince stands quietly as Howard comes with a hoarse shout and allows himself a few moments to watch his friend lay back, panting and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. He turns on his invisible Cuban heel and silently leaves the loft. He walks briskly down the street, waiting to reappear and hoping the cool air will help clear his muddled mind.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, it's more than Vince can take. The guilt, that is. Of watching Howard at one of his most private moments. Of becoming aroused by it. It would keep him up late at night, tossing and turning, wondering what it was that jazz slut had that he didn't. Other than large breasts and an encyclopedic knowledge of jazz. More than anything, it made Vince angry. He was the one whose been by Howard's side nearly all their lives. He was the one who took care of Howard. He knew it was foolish; Howard loved him as much as he loved Howard. It was just one of those things you couldn't speak about openly, like politics or genital warts.

What Vince did know, was he had to get this out of his mind--this worry, this guilt. He also knew he couldn't just come right out and tell Howard that he'd secretly (although kind of accidentally) spied on him while he was tugging himself off on the sofa. But he had to even up the score. The dusty cogs of his mind started to turn--a plan began to formulate. He marked the date down in his little black schedule book--the night of the big shindig over at the Onion, when Bollo and Naboo would be away, havin' it large with the other shaman. It was just a matter of setting Naboo down and asking, very politely, if there were some kind of magical exliur that could turn a person invisible.

"Well, I do have this one talisman--" Naboo started in his slow, monotone drawl, lisping gently over the 'isman'.

Vince put on his best fake annoyed look "Naboo, you know I'm no good with incantations. Look what happened last time!"

Naboo shuddered at the thought of evil nans and losing his powers and agreed, handing over to Vince a small purple vial of liquid.

"What d'ya need it for, anyway?" he inquired.

"Make things easier while taggin' pop stars." Vince lied, finger the glass vial lovingly.

Naboo was satisfied, buying the lie with the hopes of turning a quick profit.

The days ticked by slowly--slower than when he and Howard were trapped on that island. He supposed it was because he wasn't off his face on bad coconut juice and waiting impatiently for something he wanted. But the day finally arrived. He spent all morning doing his hair and make up, picking out the perfect pair of skinnies, the most tightly fitting shirt he owned, all while Howard looked on with mild interest.

"And where are you headin' off to?"

Vince smiled at Howard, reflected in the mirror over his shoulder as he patiently applied eyeliner for that perfect smudgy, smoldering look. "The Head Shaman's party tonight. You're coming too, yeah?"

Howard made a face and retreated to the comfort of the lounge. Vince already knew Howard wouldn't be going and probably wasn't even invited, but he had to keep up appearances, didn't he?

He was ready by 7:15 after hours and hours of fussing over himself in the mirror and swapping out this ring for that bracelet, making sure he got everything just right. All he had to do was wait for Naboo and Bollo.

Vince settled across from Howard in the armchair; the wicked thoughts running through his head and anticipation for what he had planned already making him hard. Howard regarded him with vaguely curious eyes from the sofa, the same spot he was sitting in a few weeks ago, and the thought made Vince's cock throb. He bit his lip coyly to suppress a shudder and spread his legs casually; displaying the obvious bulge there.

"Alright?" he asked innocently.

Howard's eyes drifted between Vince's spread legs and he blushed, mumbling something about Charlie Parker and getting some jazz in while every one was out.

Now was his chance. Vince leaped up to the sofa as soon as Howard's back disappeared down the corridor, slipping a few drops from the vial into Howard's tea and slipping the potion back into his pocket just as Naboo and Bollo appeared.

"You ready?" Naboo asked.

Vince nodded and followed after them, more anxious than he'd ever been in his life.

******

He'd spent about an hour at the Velvet Onion before slipping out (thankfully) unnoticed and walking home. Perhaps 'running' would be a better term for his on foot journey. Sprinting, he decided, sounded less desperate. He paused at the door of the flat, trying to catch his breath. He heard nothing above him. Was that a good sign? What if the potion didn't work? What if Howard freaked out and went to A&E? Vince tried to shake off his doubts as he climbed the stairs, stopping at the landing to survey the lounge. No one there, as far as he could tell. He should have asked Naboo for some stylish goggles or glasses that would allow him to see invisible people, he thought, because how was this going to work if he didn't know if Howard was even in the same room as him? He stepped further into the room and then saw it--the dense outline of Howard's pumpkin arse in the cushion of the sofa. Something jazzy was winding it's way out of the CD player and he cringed.

"Howard?" he called innocently, praying the older man wouldn't answer "You here?"

Thankfully, Howard gave no reply, probably assuming he did something wrong, something to cause his current condition and was just waiting until Naboo got back to sort it out.

Vince sauntered over to the CD play, swaying his hips to the tune of the trumpet. He heard the sofa rustle and smiled, knowing Howard couldn't see his face from his vantage point.

"Dreadful" Vince said to himself, loud enough for Howard to hear. There was a soft sulking noise behind him and he had to suppress a giggle--it's a good job he knew Howard was there, as Howard apparently makes the worst invisible spy known to man.

He thumbed through his personal collection of CDs, deciding something sorted, yet sexy was appropriate and choosing She Wants Revenge was perfect. He kept his back turned, swaying his hips to the beat. This earned him some more shifting from across the room. He kept his face loose as he turned around, back against the wall, moving his hand slowly down--through his hair, down his neck, over his chest, across his stomach--before reaching the bottom hem of his leather jacket and peeling it off, tossing it carelessly to the floor.

He kept dancing, mouthing the lyrics. He could hear ragged breaths just over the bass line as he drug his palm over the outline of his cock; the black fabric there bulging obscenely. He wondered if it was Howard who had made the noise or himself. Either way, he carried on, stripping away his shirt. He chanced a glance over to Howard, who was still invisible, but clearly still sitting right where Vince left him.

Vince lowered himself back down into the armchair, propping his right foot up on the coffee table. He moved his hands over his chest, first rubbing at his nipples with his fingertips then pinching them roughly. He moaned out loud. Howard emitted a low, throaty noise across from him.

Vince moved his hands lower, back down over his crotch, teasing himself through the fabric. He bit his lip, dizzy. Knowing Howard was watching, putting on a show like this, well, he had always gotten off on attention, hadn't he? Everything was just so much more, every touch electric and tingling.

He popped open the button and let the zip down slowly, catching on each metal tooth. He took his cock out and nothing more--didn't touch it, didn't stroke it--just showing it off, really. A promise, a threat--Yes. This is what I plan on doing. Stop me now or leave if you must.

Nothing changed but the tempo of the music and he brought his hand back down, stroking slowly, catching his bottom lip between his crooked teeth. His eyes fluttered closed as he thumbed the head. He pumped faster, his brow furrowing. He could hear movements coming from across the table--shifting weight, fabric, another zip, the slap of skin on skin--he envisioned Howard that day on the sofa, desperate, hungry, the look on his face, the twitch of his muscles.

Vince decided to anti up--step up this little game. "Howard" he whined, speeding up the pace.

The sounds from the other side of the room stopped, save for that of Howard trying to reclaim his breath.

"Howard", he moaned again, reaching down and cupping his balls. He was so close. And then he heard it again--skin on skin from across the table, Howard egging him on, racing him to the finish.

He opened his eyes when he came, crying out Howard's name again and again. It registered dimly in his mind that Howard was again, visible, sitting across from him, staring directly at his still twitching body and jerking himself--following him over the edge.

Vince gave himself a moment to collect himself before gathering up his clothes, pressing 'stop' on the CD player and heading off to bed.


End file.
